Before I could admonish her for using foul language, she ran inside and I had no choice but to follow. I would have felt responsible had anything untoward happened to her.

I walked into the bar and instantly felt queasy. The music was much too loud and the poisonous smell of cigarette smoke filled the air like a heavy mist.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said. ‘This is a wicked place.”

But she grabbed my hand and led me to a booth seat with four other guys.

“There she is!” the guys cheered when she sat down. Then they looked at me.

“Who’s this loser?”

“Oh stop it,” she said. “He’s a friend.”

“Hi,” I said meekly. All I wanted to do was safely escort this young lady back to her place of residence but it seemed like she had used me to meet up with her friends.

“Here, don’t look so glum,” she said, handing me a drink.

“I really shouldn’t…”

“Come on,” one the of guys goaded. “It’s not like we’re gonna rape you.”

I chuckled nervously and took a sip of the drink. The strange taste of alcohol stung my tongue. The girl tilted up the end of my glass and forced me to drink half the cocktail in one go. I felt nauseous. And then I blacked out.

I don’t remember much of what happened after that. Just brief glimpses. Bodies thrusting behind me. Mad cackling. Clown costumes.

I woke up sore and without a shred of clothing. I looked at the clock. It was the afternoon of the next day. The first thing I thought of was my French quiz and how upset my father was going to be.

I tried to sit upright but it hurt to do so. For some reason my buttocks were extremely sore.

I crawled around the room, assembling my clothes. As I surveyed the detritus of the hotel room—ball gags, an extra-long strap-on and several tablets of Rohypnol—it slowly dawned on me that I had been violently gang-raped. The young lady had betrayed my trust and exploited my kindness to commit a blasphemous crime—namely, to run the train on me with her male companions.

I felt sick to my stomach. I ran to the toilet—which was filled with used condoms—and puked over and over. Then, holding my knees in the fetal position, I cried.

When a semblance of calm returned to me, I called the police, only to find that the young woman who had violated my sacred temple had accused me and the other men of raping her.

—

So here I am, defending my freedom against a sadistic succubus and unrepentant perjurer.

It was not easy to admit this horrible truth. Being gang-raped has ruined my life and my family will never be the same. I will carry the mental and psychological pain for the rest of my life. But I came forward because the world deserves to know the truth.

True, speaking out will not bring back my rear chastity, or make the intermittent bleeding stop, but it will show that this society is based on fairness.

That people of any social class—even the perversely rich—deserve justice.